Monthly Archives: May 2016
Who doesn’t long for the touch of a stranger, the touch of someone who is too damn sexy to be real while at the same time, too damn terrifying to really let in? I’ve always had fantasies of that sexy someone whose name I never know, the ghost, the demon the preternatural being who’s both terrifying and totally compelling. I know my fantasies are common ones, possibly even archetypal. What woman doesn’t have a secret longing for that deliciously dangerous negative animus?
I think one of the reasons these fantasies are so powerful is that they stem in part from our childhood speculations of what it’ll be like the first time we have a real lover, the first time we really have sex. We fear it and yet we long for it. I remember back in my days of fantasising, back before I’d ever even been kissed, I was as terrified by what I’d heard happens between men and women as I was intrigued by it, as I was drawn to it. Therefore my lovers always lived in my imagination and, in my fantasies, there was only a certain point to which they could take me before I became too frightened and too uncertain to fantasize about what happened next. In other words my power as an innocent, as a child, was to keep my demon lovers at bay. As long as I was innocent, as long as I was afraid to truly let them in, they I couldn’t really be touched by them. They needed to be invited, just like the vampire in the traditional tales. They needed me to offer myself unconditionally to them. They could tempt me, but they couldn’t hurt me – not really.
It was only when I truly began to understand the way it is between men and women, it was only when I reached the point of overcoming my fears enough to take the fantasies to the next level that the demon lovers truly took shape on my head, that they began to whisper what deliciously nasty, unspeakable things they would do to me. Of course that came hand in hand with my first masturbation experiences, with my first discoveries of just how overpowering my body could be when I let it have free rein, when I was willing to let go of my inhibitions – at least a little bit.
There are still things I fear to do in the real world that I am happy to invite my demon lover in to do to me or even to allow me to do to him … or her. I can’t help but wonder if that demon lover, that fantasy lover who can take us places we would never go in reality, is the inspiration from which erotica writers write. My most powerful experiences have come with the discovery of what my body is capable of doing when I’m willing to let go. My darkest fantasies, the ones I would never share in the real world, even in my own erotica, are the fantasies dominated by my demon lover, the fantasies of the dark places that aren’t safe to tread. The demon as fantasy lover holds central place in paranormal erotica and paranormal romance. I think – whether that demon is a vampire or a werewolf, whether that demon is a billionaire or an incubus, his power is that the rules don’t apply to him.His power is that he can take us to the darkness at our center and bring us back safely … if he chooses to. And in that place where our fate is truly out of our hands, the erotic and the horrific are separated only by a breath of consent.
writes in a wide variety of genres including erotica, erotic romance, horror,
and dark fiction. She lives on the Massachusetts coast with her husband, son,
and her three cats. Visit her web site, her Facebook
page, and her Amazon Author Page.
Her new m/m erotic medical thriller Roughing
It is out! This book is a sexy cross between The X Files and The Andromeda
Strain. Buy it at Amazon!
It’s finally feeling like spring. The weather here on the
northeast Massachusetts coast has been cooler than average for this time of
year. It’s also rather wet. I like the cool temps, though. Now that the leaves
are sprouting and the forsythia has finished blooming, it’s time for me to get
into my warmer weather routine after being cooped up in the apartment the
I look forward to spring every year. That’s the time for me
to replenish myself and to assess my progress in life. I’ve begun my beach
walks again, complete with a stop at the beach ice cream shop. The shop has
been open for about two weeks. I like to run plots and characterizations
through my head as I walk in the waves. The very, very cold waves. LOL The
ocean up here is far too cold for me to swim in even during the dog days of
August. My husband and I are talking about moving to Hawaii when he retires in
a little over three years. We can swim in that water. Pacific, here we come!
I believe writers need a safe space where they can listen to
the quiet inside and work out their stories. The beach provides that solace for
me. I worked out a horror story in my head over this past weekend, and I
finished the first draft Monday morning. It’s one of those stories where the
movie version kept getting in the way of my imagination. I finally got past
that. Think outside the box, as my husband says. I’d go today but there isn’t
enough time. Until Wednesday.
I also relax by gardening, which I’m into full swing now.
Spring brings forth the herbs and veggies I like to grow that won’t survive in
the apartment over the winter. I’m growing tomatoes from seeds for the first
time. If you write to University of Florida and donate $10, the horticulture
department will send you tomato seeds. This department is developing tomatoes
that actually taste delicious. Most mass-grown tomatoes you buy in the
supermarket are so bland they’d might as well not have any taste at all. The
two tomato strains I bought are Garden Gem and Garden Treasure. The seeds have already
sprouted and are doing well. I bought more seeds in the hope they’ll take and I
can plant them in pots. I bought more tomato seeds (Roma and Best Boy),
chamomile, and cilantro. They’re planted but the seeds haven’t sprouted yet. I
also buy starter plants. This year I picked up sage, rosemary, oregano, and
three varieties of thyme – lemon, orange, and English. Then there are the
pineapple sage, tarragon, and marjoram. My jalapeño peppers from last year
survived and they’re just starting to flower. The peppers grow from the
flowers. My bay plant needs to be transplanted since it’s root bound and it’s
complaining. I have a huge plastic pot for it. My tiny avocado I grew from the
pit three years ago is now almost five feet tall. That one is adjusting to a new
pot and the great outdoors. Here are pictures of my herb garden, which I keep
in pots since I can’t plant them in the ground.
Getting outside myself and away from the computer only makes
my writing flow easier. I need time away from writing so that I may continue to
write. It’s easier for me to do this in the spring, summer, and fall since
there are so many opportunities out there for exploration and enjoyment. I
don’t get that sort of thing during the winter. It’s too easy to hole up up
here, and I’m reclusive by nature. It
also doesn’t help that I took on far too many projects recently, and I need to
finish them before the end of the month. Hopefully by the time this article
posts, I’ll be mostly finished. One can hope. By getting away, I come full circle
to meet my muse and the words flow. I need that.
by Jean Roberta
Writing fiction set in the past (even a past era of the writer’s own lifetime) is a challenge because, as someone once said, the past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.
When writing a story set in the 1920s, I introduced my teenage female narrator to a handsome boy in her class in high school. His parents were friends of her parents, and now that her father is dead, his father is providing a salary for her mother, who works as his secretary. The boy likes the girl, and she is delighted to discover sexual pleasure with him when they are alone together. She is terrified of getting pregnant too soon, but he assures her that they are planning to marry anyway, so if they “start a family,” they only have to arrange an earlier wedding.
Realistically, my heroine knows she isn’t likely to get a better offer. She is also practical enough to know that she – a very intelligent person who is not male and not white – can’t leave home alone to seek her fortune and expect to be better off than she is in the relative safety of the community where she grew up.
In the real world, my young storyteller would probably settle, as so many women did in her time. Yet she really doesn’t want to marry her boyfriend. His chivalry often slides into condescension, even though she gets better grades in school than he does. Sex is a revelation to her, but does the ecstasy of his touch really mean that he is her soul-mate? She hasn’t had enough experience to know.
She has heard mutterings about sexually-experienced women: hoochie-coochie dancers who drink illegal booze in joints that cater to dangerous men. She doesn’t know how or where to apply for a job like that, but she knows how all her nearest and dearest would react if she did.
I don’t really know what better future I could provide for my character than marriage to her boyfriend, followed by childraising and membership in his church, one of the things they disagree about. The spell of historical fiction should not be broken by the intrusion of twenty-first century options and values.
Still, I want more for her. She wants more for herself, and she knows on a gut level that there must be a companion for her somewhere in the world who is more than “a good provider” with conventional beliefs.
I’ve always had trouble writing happy-ever-after endings, and I sometimes think this is because men and women still don’t really have equal status, even in Canada where we’ve had it in theory since the 1980s, according to a marvelous federal policy called the Charter of Equality Rights. However, the problem isn’t just a gender clash. Many a lesbian relationship has ended with hard feelings on both sides, and communities of gay men are also full of gothic stories about deception, heartbreak and violence – so I’ve heard.
In traditional romance plots, the lovers persevere despite threats to the relationship from other people and from each other. They have faith that in the long run, being together will be much better for both of them than being apart, and so it turns out. Most people claim to admire long-term relationships, but only if no one is being exploited, abused, or diminished in any way. That’s a big if.
In fiction, as in life, I worry about exaggerating the fault-lines that exist in every relationship, but I also worry about limiting a character’s potential by keeping her in a trap. There were several notable differences between my parents besides gender, but if they hadn’t stayed together for the first seven years of their marriage, I would never have been conceived. To honour my own roots, I should probably value sacrifice and compromise, even in a fictional world.
One of the appealing qualities of a short story, as distinct from a novel, is that not all questions have to be answered. The plot can end on a hopeful note, with an implication that the central character(s) will boldly go to an unknown destination. So I keep writing in order to discover new plots. Maybe some day I’ll have a clearer sense of when a happy ending requires an escape, and when it requires a commitment.
by Kathleen Bradean
As many of you know, I write a fantasy thriller series under another name. A character in the third book in the series suffers from arthritis so severe that he can barely use his hands. He’s an elderly gent, recently retired, and still has an eye for the ladies. I got a very sweet thank you note about that.
While I wrote him as elderly, I knew a guy in high school with this problem. His fingers were permanently curled into fists even though he had several operations to cut the tendons in the hopes that his fingers could straighten out. And they would, for about six months, before slowly clenching again. A teenager stuck with the hands of an old man. Everyone past a certain age knows what it’s like to feel like you’re twenty or thirty until a mirror cruelly reminds you that no, you’re not. Inside, you’re a very different person than you are on the outside.
We don’t see enough people like this erotica. We don’t see them in real life and definitely not in our stories. In real life, we can’t seem to bear the idea of anyone with physical problems being a sexual person. It seems a real taboo.
I’m not fond of fatal disease porn, those romantic stories about angelic people teaching important life lessons before dying from cancer. Mawkish sentimentality I think is the usual critique, but I think it’s worse than that. It makes being ill and bearing it bravely all a person is. It makes illness seem like a key to higher insight about the human condition. It takes away a person’s right to be furious that their body is betraying them just when things are getting good. And it might make a normal person who might have a real reason to complain about their plight from time to time feel as if they’re somehow experiencing their life wrong.
So while I don’t advocate that approach to characters, I think we need to push boundaries this way. We need to examine why the thought of a differently abled person having sex makes us so uncomfortable, and why sexy is the hardest attribute to accept for them.
By Lisabet Sarai
I recently read and reviewed M.Christian’s sci-fi erotica story Bionic Lover. This tale follows the disturbing and intense relationship between a shy, struggling female artist and a butch woman of the streets who, when the story opens, has a magnificently crafted artificial eye. Thinking about the book after I wrote the review, I realized one reason it moved me so deeply: the author never really explains anything. We see the near-irresistible attraction between Pell (the artist) and Arc (the increasingly bionic butch). We watch as Arc replaces one body part after another with prosthetics, as Pell falls ever more deeply under her spell, as Arc vanishes then returns to the arms of the woman who somehow makes her whole–but though the emotions feel genuine and true, we never know why anyone does anything. Unmediated by reasons, we experience the desire, the longing, the loneliness, directly. The tale remains hauntingly ambiguous as well as overwhelmingly erotic.
In contrast, much of the erotic fiction I read focuses considerable attention on explaining the source of the attraction between the protagonists. Sometimes it’s something as superficial as big breasts or washboard abs. In other cases, the characters clearly complement each other, in terms of personality or history or mutual fantasies or kinks. In all too many stories, the erotic connection is pretty much a foregone conclusion, because the author has made the reasons for that connection painfully obvious.
Desire isn’t necessarily like that, though. Attraction often cannot be explained—except by amorphous concepts like “chemistry”, which is no explanation at all.
I remember one of my lovers, from my sex goddess period, when I blossomed from a self-conscious nerd into a flaming nymphomaniac. I met him at a mutual friend’s wedding, and wanted him from the very first instant. This wasn’t due to his physical appearance. He was cute, but no movie star. It certainly wasn’t because of his personality. He turned out to be arrogant as well as somewhat dishonest. None of that mattered. I wanted him. He wanted me. We had sex within four hours of meeting. Over the next few weeks, we shared some wild times, pushing the envelope (as they say), until I came to the conclusion that I didn’t really like him that much.
Call it chemistry if you like, the inexplicable force binding two souls, two bodies, who by rights shouldn’t be together at all. Whatever it is, it cannot be predicted, or explained.
Another wonderful literary example of this phenomenon is Willsin Rowe’s searing novella The Last Three Days. If you’ve ever thought lust was trivial compared to love, read this book. Rowe’s protagonists are in some sense addicted to one another. Insatiable need draws them together again and again. The pleasure of their encounters tempers their mutual antipathy. The emotions become so tangled that neither the characters nor the reader can sort them out—but they feel incredibly real.
There’s a clever little acronym frequently cited in author circles: RUE, which stands for Resist the Urge to Explain. Usually, when someone invokes the RUE principle in a critique, she’s commenting on a back story dump or an excess of description that slows down the pace of the narrative. Meditating on these two exemplary stories, I see that the RUE particularly applies to the erotic attraction between one’s characters. The more surprising, unexpected, complex and inexplicable that is, the more compelling the tale.
Desire cannot be summoned at will, nor can it be reasoned away. Desire simply is. And we erotic authors are but its chroniclers.
It’s May, it’s May, the lusty month of May…
That gorgeous month when everyone goes blissfully astray.
Celebrate the lusty month of May (which also happens to be National Masturbation Month) by sharing a sexy snippet!
The ERWA blog is not primarily intended for author promotion. However, we’ve decided we should give our author/members an occasional opportunity to expose themselves (so to speak) to the reading public. Hence, we have declared the 19th of every month at the Erotica Readers and Writers Association blog Sexy Snippet Day.
On Sexy Snippet day, any author can post a tiny excerpt (200 words or less) in a comment on the day’s post. Include the title from with the snippet was extracted, your name or pseudonym, and one buy link.
Please post excerpts only from published work (or work that is free for download), not works in progress. The goal, after all, is to titillate your readers and seduce them into buying your books!
Feel free to share this with erotic author friends. It’s an open invitation!
Of course I expect you to follow the rules. One snippet per author, please. If your excerpt is more than 200 words or includes more than one link, I’ll remove your comment and prohibit you from participating in further Sexy Snippet days. I’ll say no more!
After you’ve posted your snippet, feel free to share the post as a whole to Facebook, Twitter, or wherever else you think your readers hang out.
by Donna George Storey
The goal of the writer of historical fiction is to bring the past vividly to life with as much authenticity as possible. The materials we can draw from are varied: diaries, novels, oral histories, contemporary articles and advertisements, historical studies of political and social life, photographs and paintings. For those of us seeking a sense of the erotic, we often must read between the lines due to the conventions of respectability. But occasionally, as with the erotic letters of James Joyce, the past does hand us an illuminating gift.
This month, I’d like to share another favorite sexy treasure I discovered—the “peeping-at-undressed-ladies” drawings of John Sloan. Now on first consideration, you might think photographs would provide the most “realistic” visual inspiration to recreate life in New York City of one hundred years ago. And indeed, the photographs of that time are helpful in terms of setting the scene. However, when it comes to a sense of what it was like to be in the city, to encounter its vitality and variety by both day and night, the work of the Ashcan School—artists including John Sloan who strove to portray the truth of modern life in the city—provides the most satisfying glimpse into the libidinous desire of the early 1900s.
Take, for example, the drawing above, Turning Out the Light (1905). From reading Sloan’s diary, John Sloan’s New York Scene, 1906-1913, I know that the artist drew material from intimate scenes he spied through New York’s windows. As evening fell, a lighted room in a neighboring apartment could indeed provide a provocative show. Generally speaking, detailed accounts of what went on in bedrooms in the early 1900s are quite rare, but Sloan’s drawing is worth more than a thousand words. Women in those times were officially passive in bed, but the voluptuous woman in this drawing is clearly in control. It is she who takes the initiative to begin the amorous encounter by turning off the light while her lover waits in anticipation. The glance between them leaves no doubt at the pleasure to come. The petticoat over the chair, the stocking over the headboard, the fact she must hold up her shift, which had probably already been pulled from her shoulders during foreplay suggests that some of the preliminaries have already been observed by the artist. This glimpse of the moment before offers delicious food for the imagination.
Roofs, Summer Night (1906) treats a city custom of the less affluent—seeking relief from the heat on a sultry summer night. Apparently the whole tenement building camped out on mattresses on the rooftop, the women stripping to their shifts (a long slip worn next to the skin). Here instead of being the sole voyeur, as we were in Turning Out the Light, we also observe another’s voyeurism. Note the clear fascination of the man with the mustache at the right of the picture with a voluptuous woman who is not his wife (presuming the woman beside sleeping him is his spouse). The man’s desire imbues the scene with an extra kick of sexual tension that would not be present in a scene of only sleeping figures.
Sloan dials the voyeurism up even higher in Night Windows (1910). A dark male figure spies on a woman at her evening toilette, illuminated in her window as if she is on a stage, yet presumably innocent of the illicit pleasure she provides. Again it is hard not to connect the lurking male figure with the scantily clad woman taking down the laundry from the clothesline right below him, although of course the connection is less definite than the couple in the previously discussed community sleep out. But look a little closer and you’ll see another man inside that apartment, appreciating his wife’s shift-clad behind. Yes, life in the city is a feast of endless temptations for admiring eyes.
Of course, my favorite of these three is Turning Out the Light for its frank portrayal of female desire, pleasure and agency, but the erotic yearnings of the men in the early 1900s are just as pleasurably exposed through John Sloan’s windows into the male sensibility. Although I work in prose, I’m very grateful to him for sharing with the viewers of 2016 these visions of nights of long ago.
Donna George Storey is the author
of Amorous Woman and a collection of short
Presents the Best of Donna George Storey. Learn more about her
work at www.DonnaGeorgeStorey.com
Folks often talk about
non monogamy as more advanced sex, or more advanced relationships. As if its
extra work, takes more from you, is harder to do. It has that reputation in all
its permutations, from group sex to open relationships to closed triads to
non-hierarchical polyamory. I think this is because the risks are perceived to
be higher, and because folks are conceiving of a monogamous couple as the norm.
Many people assume that if you are doing menage or group sex, that you start
with a previously monogamous couple, and add on from there. And for some
people, that is how it works. But that’s not all that exists in the world.
Not everyone starts as a
couple, and opens up their monogamous relationship. I have done many different
kinds of non-monogamy in my life, and have
never done it that way. A monogamous couple doesn’t need to be the center
of group sex, or an open relationship, or menage, or a polyamorous network, or
a triad. That is not the beginning from which all of these things spring.
So, why am I talking
about this on an erotica-focused website?
Because these assumptions are often built into our
erotica in ways that we may not even be aware. Let’s hone in on a
particular form of non-monogamy that’s quite common in erotica: group sex. (For
my purposes here, let’s loosely define group sex as three or more people
involved in fucking and/or BDSM together. No, this is not an official
definition, just the one we are trying on for the moment.)
A couple focused story is
often framed by some kind of interpersonal conflict that either needs to be
managed or is fueling the situation: jealousy, cuckholding, competition,
perception of the other players or the group sex itself as threat or potential threat
to the coupledom that needs to be neutralized. Common ways such a threat is neutralized
in these stories include: temporariness or casualness of the encounter, a deep
trust with the other parties, certain acts or body parts being off the table
outside the couple, only doing it with other couples, or a facilitated experience
that one partner creates for the other, as a gift, a lesson, a punishment, or a
way to cement a D/s dynamic. Do these
sound familiar? I sure have read a ton of stories that use these things as the
framework for group sex. In fact, the majority of the group sex I’ve read in
erotica and erotic romance involves scenarios like this.
Let’s unpack this for a
moment. This kind of framework assumes that if a couple engages in sex with
other people, there will automatically
be interpersonal conflict of some sort. For cuckolding stories, this conflict
is the main driver for the sex in the first place, the thing that turns some
(or all) of the parties on. For other stories, this conflict is assumed to be
inevitable, as if everyone would naturally feel jealous, or competitive. As if having
sex or BDSM play with others would obviously of course be a potential threat to
In this sort of story,
tension and action is created by external conflict, between the people involved.
This is based on a framework that having sex with other people takes something
away from the couple, is emotionally
painful for some of the people involved, or sets people up to compete against
each other for a limited amount of love, sex, security or attention. This
foundation of pain, scarcity, and threat is what drives the action of the
story, the thing that needs to be resolved in the story, usually by some action
that cements or reinforces the couple.
It can be difficult to break
out of this framework, to imagine other things, partly because it is so very
common and societally reinforced. In polyamory communities, folks are often
still struggling to think outside of this box, to come up with language for
describing our lives that does not operate from this framework of competition,
threat and jealousy. One concept I find particularly useful is compersion. Compersion is often
conceived of as the idea that you might feel happy that your partner is happy
with their other partner, basically that their joy is catching. It’s related to
empathy, the idea that you might feel joy with your partner, the same way you
might get excited when a friend is excited about something they achieved, or
feel sad for a loved one who experiences loss. This is basically an extension
of that kind of shared emotion, applied to non-monogamy, in a neutral way. It
doesn’t assume that jealousy and competition are a natural result of your
partner having other partners. It holds space for folks who feel joy and other
positive emotions with other people, including their partner’s happiness with
So that’s compersion, as
a big concept, with regards to relationships. Erotic compersion is the idea that you might get turned on by
hearing about or imagining or witnessing your partner have sex with another
person. Erotic compersion makes room for folks who experience erotic
compassion, folks who get off on the sex their partners have with other people.
This isn’t a cuckolding scenario, where the idea is that someone might feel
shame, pain, humiliation, failure, or feel threatened at the sex their partner
has with others, alongside maybe also getting off on it. This is the erotic
charge and pleasure without the assumption of competition, threat, pain or
jealousy. A different animal, one that isn’t built on conflict.
I really think it’s
worth exploring group sex stories that don’t have this built-in assumption of
competition, jealousy, threat, and interpersonal conflict. When I read stories
that are rooted in these things, they frequently feel boring, depressing, stuck,
and flat. I am not rooting for the couple or finding the group sex hot, I’m
mostly just sad for everyone involved. I vastly prefer stories that center
openness, abundance of possibilities, collaboration, exploration of internal
struggle. I experience those stories as full of hope and possibility, and
infinitely hotter. I encourage you to consider possibilities outside this box
that our genre is so often in, even just as an experiment in pushing your own
thinking and practice as an erotica writer.
What could that look
like? I’m going to discuss a few examples from my own work to give you a feel
for what I mean.
As someone who primarily
experiences compersion, both emotional and erotic, I got very excited at having
this new language, and wrote a story about it, that I titled “Compersion”. The
story is told from the point of view of a dominant queer man who watches his
boy bottom to two tops. It hones in on the erotic experience of compersion, and
attempts to make it concrete for the reader, to show what it’s like to get
turned on when your boy is “showing off for Daddy”.
(As a heads up, the excerpt below includes descriptions of service oriented sex.)
“He is so hot when his cock is being used. It brings him into himself,
straightens his shoulders, stirs his pride. He knows he is skilled at this.
My boy is focused. It’s not about his pleasure—it’s about you—and he is
so focused on you that you feel larger, immense, like you fill the entire room.
Abe only wants to give you what you need, to create the kinds of sensations you
most enjoy, and he pays such close attention. His gaze and focus are mighty
things, and as I watched him turn them to Marcus, watched him serve in this
particular way, I filled with pride that he was mine. It made my dick throb. Watching
him steadily piston Marcus was intensely hot, but it also lit me up to watch
him take such pride in his service. That’s
my boy, I kept thinking. That’s my
In this story, the
tension doesn’t come from the characters competing with each other or being
jealous of each other or any other sort of external conflict. Instead, the
conflict is all internal. The tension builds as Abe pushes himself as a
submissive, and his Daddy witnesses that internal struggle, riding it along
with him, using what he knows about his boy to connect deeply with him and his
experience of internal conflict.
When you embrace the
possibility that there doesn’t need to be external conflict between characters,
that characters can collaborate or be connected or have compersion or dance
together through pleasure, it opens up other areas of exploration in your
story. You can imagine a community where a bunch of friends and leather family
might hold space for an intense scene, and be part of how two people push edges
together safely. You can imagine a queer trans guy learning how to do anal
fisting with a group of gay cis men coaching him along, especially a very
active power bottom. You can imagine a dominant offering his former mentor and
lover a menage scene with his new submissive as a way to explore getting back
together, perhaps as a threesome this time. You can imagine a group sexual
initiation into a werewolf pack or rugby team or queer leather family. You can
imagine someone scheming to find enough fisting tops to give his best friend
the scene she always wished for. You can imagine three friends finally falling
in bed together after years of sexual tension. You can imagine a kink community
where birthday parties regularly culminate in group birthday spankings. You can
imagine someone being hot to serve a dominant couple.
Once you let go of basing
the tension in your group sex story on interpersonal conflict between the characters,
you can explore other sources of tension. Not all tension and build in a story must be based on conflict. That is a
deeply Western conceptualization of storytelling. That said, if you are a fan
of writing conflict and find it to be a needed element in your story, I suggest
considering internal conflict. Most of my erotica stories center at least one POV
character who is grappling with some sort of internal conflict, often alongside
characters that are collaborating in some way.
For example, my story, The Tender Sweet Young Thing, is told from the point of view of three trans characters.
Dax, who has fantasized about a gender play scene based on a hir favorite
childhood story, Dax’s boyfriend Mikey, who has been searching for a bottom to
make such a scene happen for Dax, and Téo, who gets excited when hearing about
the story and wants to be the bottom in the scene. Dax gathers a group of friends
to be tops in the scene, and the bulk of the story depicts the scene itself.
There are several elements of tension in the scene for different characters,
but the central tension is the internal conflict of the bottom in the scene,
who finds it more difficult to claim the gender he wanted than he thought it
(As a heads up, the following excerpt includes descriptions of gender play, blade play, and role play.)
“Téo knew his line. He’d been waiting for it, to claim this gender that
fit so right, in front of queers who actually got it. He swallowed around the
fear rising in his throat. “I am a tender…,” he whispered, then stopped. It
turned out it was harder to say than he’d thought.
Mikey met his gaze, gripped his face in her paw, and said, “What was
that? Old tigers like me need it a bit louder.”
Dax took the opportunity to spread his thighs with hir claws, and Lee
bit down on his stomach. Damn. Rebecca came over to hold his hand. That helped.
Jericho came over to their boy and laid their hand on his shoulder. Rusty still
hadn’t let go of his curls, but that felt grounding now.
“Looks tender,” said Xóchi, who had pulled up on the other side of his
stomach with her knife out, and was tracing it along his collarbone, up toward
Fuck, okay, he said to himself. You can’t talk when you aren’t breathing.
You can do this. Let it out. It came out in a whimper, which only made
Xóchi grin and press the knife deeper into his skin. Lee was nuzzling his
stomach again, and Mikey held him captive in her gaze. Why couldn’t he look
away? Why was it so damn hard to say?
Mikey’s eyes were warm and firm all at the same time. Her gaze said, Take your time. We are here. We know it’s
hard. We’ve got you.”
There is no conflict
between the characters; instead, the story highlights the ways they work
together to shape the scene. Although there is a couple, the story doesn’t
center the couple or assume that their coupledom is under threat because they
are doing sex and kink with a group of friends and lovers. Instead, the couple
work together to create the scene, along with other friends and lovers of both
theirs and Téo’s. The tension comes from Téo’s internal struggle, from the ways
that BDSM can reach inside and create opportunities to be brave and honest
about who you are.
I urge you to question
the framework you are using to imagine your group sex stories. It may open you
up to story possibilities that take you somewhere very new. And isn’t that part
of the joy of writing, to push ourselves to go to new places and imagine
By Sam Thorne, Storytime Editor-in-Chief
In everyone’s life, there is that special someone who makes you want to wring them warmly by the neck. In a good way, of course.
Of course, you can’t really throttle this person, drown them or have them forcefully emigrated. The legal system tends to frown on these things. That minor detail aside, you might be related to this person, or ‘owe them’ in some way. You might work for them. Or perhaps you’re under contract to share living space with them for the next six months. You can’t do much but survive these people, but you can put them to good use.
Your key characters (both protagonist and antagonist) need adversaries. I don’t mean villains; they’re in a class of their own. By adversaries, I mean secondary or minor characters who exist to:
- frustrate your main characters’ (MCs) aims
- show what’s important to your MCs by creating inner conflict
For example, our heroine—let’s call her Clare—has an anxiety about being late because she works in the dispatch office for the emergency services. To avoid the cliché of Clare having a jerk boss who will rip two strips off her if she’s late, let’s step sideways. We can create tension adding someone to Clare’s life who has this strange talent for making her late. I’m going to be mean, and give Clare a housemate called Lisa, who is a professional problem-haver:
Clare checked her texts for traffic updates and found one from Mark, sent just a couple of minutes ago.
Geoff’s off sick. Any chance you can get in early for hand-over?
She flicked a glance at the time—07:15—and bit her lip. So long as she got out now, and the A316 was clear, she’d have a few minutes alone with him before shift started. To hand over, of course. She thumbed back On my way and shoved her mobile into her back pocket.
Clare didn’t hear any movement from Lisa’s bedroom, but picked her way towards the front door nonetheless, treading only on the non-creaking floorboards. She passed the hall table, sliding her keys into her palm. She had her hand on the latch when she heard a sniff. Her heart fell.
Don’t look round.
‘Clare?’ Lisa’s voice had that tell-tale waver. ‘Have you got a minute?’
‘It’s just…I heard from Joe last night. He’s not doing well.’
Clare longed to be able to say ‘sorry to hear that’ and make a run for it, but Joe had been ill. And if it were her brother going in and out of hospital, she’d need a bit of support.
Suppressing the sigh, she turned and gave Lisa a hug.
This kind of sequence serves several purposes. Firstly, to show Clare letting her empathy get the better of her. To begin with, she’s a bit of a people pleaser. By the end of the story, she may find that she knows the difference between distress and emotional blackmail (in any context), and have a better handle on how to deal with it. Adversaries are good ‘showing’ tools. And they can be cathartic, too. Mix up the details of your irritating character enough, and you create a whole new person.
There are all kinds of adversaries. Your MC’s best friend could turn out to be an adversary, thanks to her pushy (but well-meant) lectures about following the head, not the heart. A brother could be over-protective. Perhaps there’s a colleague who’s unreasonably cheerful every morning, making the MC feel (and appear) irritable by comparison. Or maybe there’s a Dom who is only masterful in the bedroom, and hopeless everywhere else.
The extent and depth of the role these people have really depends upon the length of your story. But if there’s something getting in the way of your character getting what they want, perhaps let that ‘something’ be a person. There’s more opposition, that way.
So, how do you create these adversarial characters (ACs) without fear of being accused of writing someone specific into your story? Well, there are a few methods:
1) Next time you’re up at two in the morning, replaying an argument in your head and gnashing your teeth, get up and write down some of the things you wish you’d said. If nothing else, it might help you sleep better. Anger-induced insomnia is usually a sign of repressed resentment. Tap into that resentment more closely and you’ll find a golden stockpile of material for internal conflict.
2) Make a list of love-to-hate characters in movies and TV. What makes them so infuriating? Can you transplant that behaviour/trait to a different context?
3) Read books on coping with idiots at the office. They feature long lists of aggravating behaviours which you can apply to just about any situation. Some good guides are:
Dealing with Difficult People (Drs Rick Brinkman & Rick Kirschner)
The Way of the Rat: A Survival Guide to Office Politics (by Joep P.M. Schrijvers)
4) Finally, watch and listen to stand-up comedians. They usually have some kind of routine that kicks off with some variation of: ‘I can’t stand it when…’ If they make you laugh, jot their point down. If you can identify with it, so will many, many others.
But we don’t want to read about two-dimensional ‘impossible’ people. You can dial them back a little by making them supportive of your MC at unexpected moments, or by giving them frustrations that most people can sympathise with. For example, a cliché AC might embark on a political/totally selfish rant; your AC might get unduly enraged about continually finding tiny cars hidden behind huge ones when trying to find a space in the car park.
Now, take a deep breath, summon your imagination, and write a character who’s going to irritate the living daylights out of your readers. In a good way, of course.
Very few genres have their writers picking and choosing—often very carefully—what words they can, should, or must never use. In erotica, word choice basically comes down to two questions: what’s appropriate to the story, and how important is it to work around limitations.
Believe it or not, certain editors and publishers have a verboten word list that includes certain slang terms or spellings. The question of whether to argue with them isn’t an ethical one. Your preference for cum rather than come or your use of pussy when the editor doesn’t favor it isn’t really the question. Your main dilemma is simply this: how much you want to see your work published? Editors will insist you take it out or publishers will often change the word without your permission, so really, how attached are you to these words?
For the record, I believe an anthology should be consistent in its spelling—so while I respect a writer’s preference for come instead of cum I don’t blink, or blink that much, when my publisher suggests a change so the word is the same in every story. In the second instance, if an editor or publisher simply doesn’t like a word … well, I suggest the editor go into therapy, and that the rest of us simply try not to sweat it when they take the word out. And we can always just not work with them in the future.
Now appropriate word choice: that’s another matter. Certain words either aren’t correct or don’t feel correct in the context of a story. The problem could be historical. For example, the word sex as a term for female genitalia is tolerable when you’re doing a historical piece, but when your character is a Gen-X, Y, or Z person, how appropriate is it? It might be technically correct, but sex is often used as a safe way of describing what’s between a woman’s thighs. My own rule is to use terms that feel right for the character. If someone is depicted as repressed, using words like cunt or twat is jarring. Same for an older man using clumsy slang for his own genitals, like member.
I applaud people for doing research, by the way. Nothing adds a flavor of realism more than slipping in a good word choice for sex or the active biology of sex. One of my own favorites is a 19th century term for female genitalia, Old Hat, because it was frequently felt. Yes, you may wince.
One thing I like to see in a story has little to do with the words of sex and more to do with the view of sex. Assuming that characters in a story set in Nero’s Rome view sex the same way we do today can result in some clumsy word usage. Certain types of sex were rare or seen with disfavor—in the case of Rome, noticing or even admiring women’s breasts in a sexual context was a sign of weakness. Just look at the Pompeii mosaics; the prostitutes depicted—no matter what they were doing—kept their boobies wrapped. Therefore, you wouldn’t want to spend too much time waxing poetic on some Roman woman’s tits if your story was set in that time period.
The bottom line is that certain words and ideas work and others don’t. The trick to picking the right ones has little to do with the power of them at this moment or your own personal preference as it does with their relevance within the story. Naughty words shouldn’t be ones that reach the modern libido but instead be used to continue to keep the reader within and enjoying the story. Because when you get down to it, an erotic story isn’t about the words but rather what you are saying with them.